The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

* * *

‘Ladies!’ Lance swung the drawing-room door open with a flourish. ‘I hope you haven’t missed us too dreadfully.’

‘Woefully, my love.’ Violet laughed over her shoulder. She was sitting beside Frances on a red-velvet sofa, though only she turned around to look at them. ‘But we managed to bear it somehow.’

‘Minx.’ Lance limped to his customary armchair. ‘So what have you two been talking about?’

‘Jewellery. Frances was just telling me that she makes it.’

‘Indeed, Miss Webster?’ Arthur moved towards the fireplace, resting one arm along the mantel so that he had a sideways view of her. Frances’s eyes appeared to be riveted on the carpet, though he was pleased to see that she’d finally pulled back her veil, a development he could only put down to Violet’s kind-hearted influence.

‘Yes.’ She looked faintly embarrassed to be the focus of attention. ‘From the jet I find on the beach. Cameos and beads and brooches. Anything I can think of really.’

‘Jet?’ Lance hoisted his damaged leg on to a footstool. ‘You mean the black stones that wash up on the shoreline?’

‘Yes. That is, sometimes they wash up. Most of the time you can find them sticking out of the cliff face, where it gets worn away by the tide. Jet’s a hard rock, but it’s good for sculpting and it polishes beautifully. The lustre never fades and it’s become very popular since the Queen started wearing black.’

‘I’d love to see a few of your pieces.’ Violet sat forward eagerly. ‘Are you wearing any?’

‘Oh, no.’ She looked faintly startled by the question. ‘I don’t wear them myself. I used to make them as gifts, but recently I’ve...’

‘Recently you’ve...?’ Arthur prompted her as she faltered mid-sentence.

‘Recently I’ve started selling a few pieces.’ Her voice held a note of defiance as she lifted her chin to look him straight in the eye. ‘You look very stern standing up there.’

‘He never sits down in here...’ Lance gave an exaggerated sigh ‘...but it’s no good telling him, Miss Webster. Believe me, I’ve tried enough times.’

‘I prefer to stand.’

‘That’s not the reason.’

‘It’s the reason I choose to give.’

Arthur lifted an eyebrow at his brother’s challenging tone. They both knew exactly why he refused to sit down in the drawing room, in particular why he refused to take his father’s old chair by the fireplace, but he had absolutely no intention of discussing the matter again now.

‘Lance.’ Violet gave her husband a pointed look. ‘Arthur can stand on his head if he chooses.’

‘Just as long as he knows he doesn’t need to.’

‘I do.’

Arthur gave his brother one last scowl and then turned his attention back to Miss Webster. Her comment about selling jewellery hadn’t shocked him as she’d seemed to think that it might, but it did strike him as odd that she didn’t wear any examples of it herself. On closer inspection, he noticed that all of her clothes were plain and unembellished, without any ornament at all, as if she were trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. The image of her straw bonnet floated back into his mind.

‘That’s where I’ve seen you.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Down on the shore collecting stones. You wear a straw bonnet and carry a wicker basket.’

‘Yes.’ She looked taken aback. ‘But...when? I’ve never see you.’

‘You said that I’ve changed.’

‘True, but then I suppose we both have. We might easily have crossed paths and not recognised each other.’

‘Perhaps we have...’ He found himself almost smiling and cleared his throat hastily. ‘Or perhaps I’ve just seen you from my boat.’

‘You still sail?’ She looked surprised again. ‘Didn’t your experiences put you off? I mean, after so long on a fishing boat...’

She clamped her lips together suddenly, as if she’d just remembered she was supposed to keep their conversation between themselves, and he turned his face towards the fire, grimacing inwardly as an awkward silence descended over the room.

As far as the rest of the world knew, what had happened to him was still a mystery, not to mention an accident. There were rumours, but since he’d neither confirmed nor denied any of them, speculation was all that they were. Only Violet, Lance and now Miss Webster knew the truth—and now Lance knew that he’d told her, too. What would he read into that? He could already feel his brother’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. And why had he told her? He’d only met her, only renewed their acquaintance anyway, that afternoon. What had made him trust her so quickly? Bad enough that his own family knew how oddly he’d behaved. He didn’t need the whole of Whitby knowing it, too. All it would take was for her to tell one person and the gossip would be all over town.